


mas e do thoil e

by iihappydaysii



Series: and they were lovers [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/pseuds/iihappydaysii
Summary: Lord John goes to visit his lover, Jamie Fraser, in Edinburgh when he walks in on him with the wife John believed to be dead.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Series: and they were lovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704625
Comments: 22
Kudos: 124
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	mas e do thoil e

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the beta levisqueaks ! for the outlanderbingo2020 "didn't know they were dating" square

Grey couldn’t wait to see Jamie again. It had been too long, since they’d had a chance to see each other. Though Grey was doing his best to spend as much time in Scotland as possible, it had been three months and he missed his lover something awful.  _ Lover,  _ he rolled the word around in his mind. He’d tried not to use it for a while, but a few visits ago, Jamie had called him that and he reckoned that made it official. He and Jamie Fraser were lovers. Had been for far longer than they’d used the words. What was between them, well, it was far beyond words.

On his way through town, Grey retrieved their current favorite wine. Last year, they’d started making a 'verra serious' ranking of all the wines available in Edinburgh. The one that topped the list was a dry red imported from Italy. Grey felt rather proud of himself for having obtained it. It wasn’t easy to come by.

When he arrived at A. Malcom’s print shop, Grey removed the bottle of wine from the satchel, then tied his horse off in its usual spot. He bounded up the stairs. He could barely contain himself, despite having arrived several days earlier than expected. God, Grey missed this man. The feel of his hot kiss. The power of his thrusts. The last time he was here—after Jamie had locked the doors—he’d thrown Grey on his printing press, pushed his knees apart and fucked him nearly to tears.

Grey could still hear those words in his memory, “ _ you’re mine, ye hear me, Major.”  _ John wasn’t even a major anymore, but it didn’t matter. He would always be ‘major’ to Jamie.  _ “I’ll ruin ye for any other man. Tell me ye dinna spread your legs like a whore for anyone else. Tell me it’s just for me.” _

He could still hear his own voice too, echoing off the machinery.  _ “Only you. Always only for you.” _

When Jamie had finished with him, his back had been black with ink.

Maybe this time would be the same. Or maybe he’d get Jamie on his back this time. They didn’t make love that way often, but there was nothing like watching Jamie Fraser bend over. Watching him yield willingly, happily. The sight of Fraser's strong buttocks bouncing on Grey’s prick, the way his thighs would tense and Jesus, the way he could still order John around. Even when John had his arse, Jamie would still tell him what to do.  _ Faster. Slower. Harder. Deeper. Come on, man. Ye canna break me. _

Meanwhile, Grey was fragile glass in the Scot’s hand.

He opened the door to the print shop, hearing the gentle and familiar ring of the bell. He heard some strange breathing and told himself— _ told  _ himself—that maybe Jamie was in pain or in some kind of danger. But he knew. Deep down inside, he knew how Jamie’s breath sounded when he was fucking someone. The sound of him finding the climax of his pleasure.

Grey looked down over the ledge to see Jamie rutting between the legs of some woman. Her brown curls spread out on the floor. The bottle of wine slipped from Grey’s hand and shattered on the floor.

Now, he saw it. Jamie’s massive frame swallowing up a small woman beneath him, her dark curls splayed on the floor.

Naked. They were both naked.

John had to get out of here. Now. He had to… he turned, prepared to run. The floor was slick with wine beneath him and his legs slipped out from under him. John crashed back hard on the floor. A blunt, radiating pain from the fall and a sharp pain, like a dagger, followed by a gush of warmth. His own warmth.

He tried to struggle to his feet, bleeding, hands slipping in the wine. God, he was so dizzy. He’d hit his head and his back in the fall and the loss of blood wasn’t doing him any favors. On his hands and knees soaked in blood and wine, the barely-dressed woman Jamie had been swiving was at his side.

“Sir, I need you to stay still. I have to stop the bleeding,” she said, her accent English not Scottish. Her hand touched his shoulder.

John jerked away instinctively and smacked his face against the floor again.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she said. “Do you want to bleed out?”

“John.  _ Major, _ ” came Jamie’s soft voice. It made him want to scream or cry or hit something. He couldn’t do any of it. “Please. Let Claire help.”

_ Claire?  _ John thought,  _ Dear God in Heaven. Claire. _

And then he thought nothing at all.

  
  


John Grey woke up in Jamie’s room above the brothel. Grey had pestered him more than once to find real rooms. But at least, no one here asked about any strange noises that may or may not have seeped through the walls.

The first thing John saw was Jamie leaning against the wall, big arms folded over his broad chest. For a delirious moment, he forgot and it was just him and Jamie as it had been for years. Then, he saw her.

Claire—beautiful and dark and Jamie’s true love.

At least, he thought pathetically, Jamie hadn’t been unfaithful to him for just anyone at all. At least, it was someone who mattered to him.

Then, reality crashed down on Grey's chest like an iron hammer.

If this was Claire, and it  _ was  _ Claire, there was no hope for John. No hope that Jamie would choose John and this unusual life they’d built. He would choose his wife. Just as he would want, and as Grey had to begrudgingly admit he should.

He sat up in the bed, a startling pain shocking through his side. If only he hadn’t injured himself, he could mount a horse and ride out of Edinburgh without looking back. But he was stuck, here in this bed, being tended to by Jamie’s healer wife.

Grey wondered briefly what story Fraser had concocted to hide the true nature of their relationship from. Surely, he wouldn’t tell her.

“You’ll need to be careful how you move for a while, my Lord,” Claire said. “If you don’t want to tear out your stitches.”

Absentmindedly, Grey's hand went to the bandaged site and he hissed at the touch. “The worst of it is I wasted a perfectly good bottle of wine.” He forced on a fake smile.

Until he had a moment alone with Jamie, he’d play act to the best of his ability. No matter the depth of his pain, he wouldn’t give Jamie away to this woman. There were only a few ways she could react and even less that didn’t end in misery or the noose.

“I noticed it was that Italian red,” Jamie said. “It’s good enough that I would have collected up off the floor, if it wasnae half yer own blood by the time I got to it.”

“Maybe human blood would pair well with it,” John replied, not looking at either of them. “It was a rather dry red.”

“We should probably save the cannibalism for another day.” Claire dusted her hands off on her skirt, “you need your rest.” She walked over to Jamie and put a hand on her arm. “I need to retrieve something from the apothecary. I saw it on the way in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She put fingers on Jamie’s chin and pulled their mouths together.

John looked away, his stomach turning.

_My lips. My mouth. My goddamn kisses._ _Mine._

Claire swept out of the room in an egg blue blur. When the door clicked shut behind them, she was gone. When Jamie looked at John with big pitiful eyes, he wished the Englishwoman would come back. At least then they wouldn’t have to talk about it.

“John, I…”

“Please, don’t,” Grey said. “Please don’t try to explain it. It’s Claire. I understand. At least, it’s Claire. At first, I thought…”

“Christ, Major. Ye dinna think I was capable of that, did ye? I wouldna have wi’ anyone else. Ye have to ken that.”

Grey shook his head. “What difference does it make now?” He bit the inside of his cheek to distract from the tears begging to fall, “she’s your wife, and you love her.”

“More than anything. More than life itself,” Jamie said to himself.

_ More than you  _ was the translation. John let out a laugh, small and broken.

“I’m sorry. I shouldna have—”

“It’s the truth, and I’d rather the truth than that you’d lie to me,” Grey sighed. “Tell me something. Did it all disappear the moment you saw her again? Everything between us… the feelings… did they just evaporate?”

Jamie sighed, shoulders slumping. “Of course no, John. How could ye think that?”

“I don’t know what to think. I can’t believe…”

Jamie sat down on the edge of the bed. “What?”

“I can’t believe we’ll never… make love again. That I’ll never feel you inside me or around me. That I’ll never hold you or take your hand in mine. Christ, Jamie. How am I supposed to never kiss you again?”

“Do ye… if ye want… I’ll kiss ye now? So ye can remember the last time.”

_ The last time _ — those words pierced John’s heart like a dagger.

“Do you even still want to kiss me?”

“Aye,” Jamie said, looking down at his own hands. “I canna keep on kissing ye, ye ken that, but I do want to. I will probably always want to, in my way.” His large, rough hand laid across Grey’s cheek. On instinct and memory, John leaned into the touch. “Let me. Mas e do thoil e,” he whispered.

John knew what that meant. He most often heard it when Jamie was on his back, legs spread.

_ Please. _

John could never say no to that. His eyes fluttered shut as he nodded. Jamie’s nose nudged against his; warm breath on his lips. Jamie closed the distance, their mouths fitting together.

John sank into it. Into the shining light of it, like skimming his fingers over the surface of the sun. Maybe he should’ve let that be it. But, God help him, if this was the last time and it was… John nipped at Jamie’s bottom lip in the way he knew the other man loved, in the way he knew encouraged his body.

Relief poured over Grey when Jamie responded in kind, biting back. He sank that powerful tongue between John’s lips. John fisted Jamie’s shirt, kept him close, pulled him up and over him, stitches be damned.

Jamie was devouring his mouth like a man who wasn’t starving but knew he was about to be. He locked one hand on the headboard, the other on the mattress beside Grey.

“Oh. My. God.” It was a woman’s voice. Claire’s voice. “Oh. My. God.”

Jamie hurled himself off John and landed on the floor.

“What’s going on?”

“How did ye get back so fast?” Jamie said.

“Wrong. Fucking. Answer.” She darted to the side of the room where she’d left her bag. Which explained why she’d returned so promptly.

“Claire, stop. Please.” Jamie put his hands on Claire’s shoulders, preventing her leaving. She whacked at his chest with her small hands.

The fear in Jamie’s eyes at that moment was one of the worst things John had ever seen and he'd seen some terrible things. He forced himself to his feet. What he had to do was clear in his mind.

“Mrs. Fraser.” Grey hobbled towards her. “Mrs. Fraser, please. I asked him for one last kiss and he obliged me. That is all.”

She stopped pounding on Jamie and whipped an intense glare towards John. “One last…? Why would he…?”

“Because we’re lovers,” Jamie replied bluntly, surprising John.

“We were,” John added. No matter how much it hurt him, when he saw the fear and pain on Jamie’s face at the thought of losing Claire again, what he had to do became crystal clear. “When you’re hurt and lonely, you find ways to soothe that pain. That’s all. Don’t hold that against him.”

Jamie drank John in with wide eyes, and John replied with the tiniest of smiles. “He loves you, Mrs. Fraser. I won’t be any trouble to you. To either of you.” He smiled again, this time a little wider. “Convince him to move out of this place though, would you?”

“John.”

“Goodbye, Jamie.” He hobbled towards the door, side aching. “It was good to meet you, Mrs. Fraser. Again, that is.”

Her brow furrowed. “Again?”

“I’ll let him tell the story,” John managed, then ducked through the door. If he stayed even a moment longer, he’d end up a broken, sobbing heap on the floor. That or he'd challenge Mrs. Claire Fraser to a duel for her husband. Neither of which were particularly acceptable scenarios. So John Grey did the only thing he could do. He left.

  
  



End file.
